I just like that phrase, and wouldn't know how to begin posting again after a lengthy hiatus. Hiatus: Isn't that Latin for "the state of having one's head stuck inside one's own arse"?
For those of you who aren't aware of this, I suffer more than anybody else. It's a fact. That justifies my tendency to feel so, so sorry for myself that I choke on hot baby tears.
I deleted a lot of the more negative posts on here, and I doubt that they'll be missed. Having saved them for my psychiatrist, I thought it best to just let all that garbage go, whether or not I feel better or that I have even gotten through the worst of it. Looking back, I don't doubt that something in my chemistry and brainwaves is responsible. And if it's any comfort to you (as it is to me), I'm going to be a good girl for awhile and take my psychotropic meds every day. Sexual side effects, bah. I'll take a functioning emotional life over an orgasm any day. Except Friday. Friday is orgasm day.
So, I'm back in school--still with the migraines, but a little less frequent than they were this summer. Just the same, when they hit, nothing helps. And I mean nothing. Well, sometimes sex helps a little bit, for a little while--endorphins are amazing little creatures. But needless to say, getting in the mood isn't easy when John Brown's ghost is busying himself driving railroad spikes into your occipital cavity. The worst part is getting advice from people who "get migraines too." They say Aspirin. They say Aleve. They say Advil and Excedrin and Hydrocodone, and before they say it, I'm ready with "tried it." It doesn't work. This shit is, so far, completely medicine-resistant, and some meds ('dones in particular, and other narcotics) make it even worse. Cold packs. Hot packs. Cold showers. Hot baths. Rest. Activity. Food. Nothing.
Anyway, aside from the headaches, I think I'm doing a bit better. Whether or not the worst of it is "out of my system" is yet to be determined. They told me exercise and diet, if I would try it, would cure my ills; but though I'm already past my quota, I need another load-o-those-magic-pills (TMBG).
I could really use more sex, though. Always.
In the meantime, at least I got my student loan check and a sweet-ass laptop (on my sweet-ass lap). Who wants to take me dildo-shopping???
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One of my favorite phrases along the same lines is "crowbar bitch from hell." I was playing poker with a bunch of friends and one guy I didn't know. My friend Marc, a reporter, was ranting about a story he was working and how he couldn't get a public official to talk about what appeared to be malfeasance with a particular agency, and he called her a crowbar bitch from hell. I've no idea how he decided to add "crowbar" to the epithet, but we all guffawed, except for the guy I didn't know. I figured he had a good hand and just wanted everyone to quit griping and bet. Wrong. After Marc finishes his plaint, this guy asks, "Does she wear dark-rimmed glasses?" Marc says yeah.
"Oh, yeah, that's my sister." Dho!
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Bill sent a note that you all had traded e-mail and sent me your blog URL. I don't have time to read it yet, but I will soon. Later.
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